Two minutes silence.
For those who died -
Deep within the war.
But what about those who survived?
Those two minutes, each year, are the loudest.
A reminder -
Plagued with visions they'd rather ignore:
Screams as loud as gunshots.
Blood stains on their hands -
Deaths.
But all is silent.
No one dare speak -
"Respect the dead" they say.
Does that count the empty shells with lives in disarray?
Still as a rock.
Rigid as one too.
Shaky hands.
Gritted teeth.
"Help!" They'd call.
But all is silent.
Tears run down a glassy face -
Like bloodshed bullet wounds.
A minute's up,
One to go.
But they won't be leaving soon.
Trapped within the air raid's ring -
Always set on loop.
Respect earned.
Damage done.
Like the minute overdue.
But all stays deadly silent...
YOU ARE READING
The power of emotions
PoetryThis is a poetry book: some are positive, some are negative and some unintentionally turn out deep and/or spiritual because that's part of me. I'll try to make as many poems as possible positive though :) I'll add to this whenever I feel like it an...
